Several days later, Harry was enjoying the quiet of his small Hogsmeade apartment. He
looked across the room, where a bed stood empty. Harry started thinking about Ron,
and, among other things, Voldemort. "I wish I had a pensieve now.." He said to himself.
Just then Sirius appeared next to Harry. "I know you often get lost in your thoughts, but I
had no idea you also talk to yourself." His feeble attempt to cheer Harry up worked.
"Hello, Sirius, what brings you here?" "Well, you. You're my godson." Suddenly Harry
jumped up and ran to his closet. He dived in, landing on his dirty laundry. Ron used to do
the laundry. Stop it, Harry told himself. He's dead. Harry rummaged around in his closet
until he found what he was looking for. It was a battered old photo album, and it was
filled with pictures of Harry's parents. Harry opened the photo album and pointed to a
moving picture of a man with jet-black hair and brown eyes. "Tell me about my father."
He demanded.
Sirius looked taken aback. He looked at the picture, recognition coming over him.
"James." He said quietly. "You want me to tell you about James." "Yes." Harry stood
firm. Suddenly Sirius smiled. Now Harry was surprised.
"Harry, there's nothing to know about your father that you don't already know. You
remind me of your father so much, he lives in you. He is you, in a sense. It's time to leave
the past behind, where it belongs. It's time I called you by the name your father would
have liked me to call you. It's time I called you Prongs."
Harry had never been more surprised before in his life. Nevertheless, he felt honored.
Prongs. Harry sighed, fingering the steel edge of the photo album. Prongs. Harry's father.
A marauder, a troublemaker. Dead. His mother, too. For the second time that week, tears
slid down Harry's cheeks. Sirius decided to leave him be, and disapparated.
Once again in the calm quiet of his apartment, Harry thought of Ron's funeral. Someone
was missing. Someone hadn't come. A key figure in Ron's life. Where was she? Where was
Hermione? She wouldn't miss Harry's funeral. Or would she? Was Ron so mad about her
running off with that professor that they decided never to see each other again? But
wouldn't Molly have written to her? Lost in thoughts, Harry fell asleep.
****************************************************************
He was woken up by someone who was knocking on his door. Harry got out of bed, put
on his glasses, and changed groggily. The person at the door kept knocking. Harry opened
the door, and was shocked to see Hermione standing there, her hair sopping wet, with no
professor at her side. Harry's jaw must have dropped to the floor. The wonders never
cease this week, he thought to himself. Hermione sat in a comfy blue accent chair and
helped herself to some hot tea. She motioned for Harry to sit down next to her. "Harry,
why didn't you tell me?" She asked quietly. "I thought someone would've told you. If not Dumbledore, then Molly." Hermione sighed. "Nobody told me anything. I just packed my
bags, left Arthur, and came to see you." "He died laughing, Hermione." The two of them
sat there, a sad silence around them.
Finally Hermione broke the silence. "How's Ida?" "It's hard on her. She's pregnant."
"What?" Hermione exclaimed. "Poor dear. The baby won't have a father. He or she
won't even have a memory.. They will never see Ron.." Hermione looked like she was
about to cry. "Death can't be a daughter's proud father." She burst into tears. Harry knew
that neither of them would ever forget Ron. Ron had always wanted to be remembered for
something. Harry and Hermione would make sure he wouldn't be forgotten.
looked across the room, where a bed stood empty. Harry started thinking about Ron,
and, among other things, Voldemort. "I wish I had a pensieve now.." He said to himself.
Just then Sirius appeared next to Harry. "I know you often get lost in your thoughts, but I
had no idea you also talk to yourself." His feeble attempt to cheer Harry up worked.
"Hello, Sirius, what brings you here?" "Well, you. You're my godson." Suddenly Harry
jumped up and ran to his closet. He dived in, landing on his dirty laundry. Ron used to do
the laundry. Stop it, Harry told himself. He's dead. Harry rummaged around in his closet
until he found what he was looking for. It was a battered old photo album, and it was
filled with pictures of Harry's parents. Harry opened the photo album and pointed to a
moving picture of a man with jet-black hair and brown eyes. "Tell me about my father."
He demanded.
Sirius looked taken aback. He looked at the picture, recognition coming over him.
"James." He said quietly. "You want me to tell you about James." "Yes." Harry stood
firm. Suddenly Sirius smiled. Now Harry was surprised.
"Harry, there's nothing to know about your father that you don't already know. You
remind me of your father so much, he lives in you. He is you, in a sense. It's time to leave
the past behind, where it belongs. It's time I called you by the name your father would
have liked me to call you. It's time I called you Prongs."
Harry had never been more surprised before in his life. Nevertheless, he felt honored.
Prongs. Harry sighed, fingering the steel edge of the photo album. Prongs. Harry's father.
A marauder, a troublemaker. Dead. His mother, too. For the second time that week, tears
slid down Harry's cheeks. Sirius decided to leave him be, and disapparated.
Once again in the calm quiet of his apartment, Harry thought of Ron's funeral. Someone
was missing. Someone hadn't come. A key figure in Ron's life. Where was she? Where was
Hermione? She wouldn't miss Harry's funeral. Or would she? Was Ron so mad about her
running off with that professor that they decided never to see each other again? But
wouldn't Molly have written to her? Lost in thoughts, Harry fell asleep.
****************************************************************
He was woken up by someone who was knocking on his door. Harry got out of bed, put
on his glasses, and changed groggily. The person at the door kept knocking. Harry opened
the door, and was shocked to see Hermione standing there, her hair sopping wet, with no
professor at her side. Harry's jaw must have dropped to the floor. The wonders never
cease this week, he thought to himself. Hermione sat in a comfy blue accent chair and
helped herself to some hot tea. She motioned for Harry to sit down next to her. "Harry,
why didn't you tell me?" She asked quietly. "I thought someone would've told you. If not Dumbledore, then Molly." Hermione sighed. "Nobody told me anything. I just packed my
bags, left Arthur, and came to see you." "He died laughing, Hermione." The two of them
sat there, a sad silence around them.
Finally Hermione broke the silence. "How's Ida?" "It's hard on her. She's pregnant."
"What?" Hermione exclaimed. "Poor dear. The baby won't have a father. He or she
won't even have a memory.. They will never see Ron.." Hermione looked like she was
about to cry. "Death can't be a daughter's proud father." She burst into tears. Harry knew
that neither of them would ever forget Ron. Ron had always wanted to be remembered for
something. Harry and Hermione would make sure he wouldn't be forgotten.